


My Love Has Wings

by withthepilot



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Infidelity, M/M, Minor Character Death, Obsession, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-18
Updated: 2011-07-18
Packaged: 2017-10-21 12:29:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/225177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthepilot/pseuds/withthepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gary meets Jim Kirk on the side of a road in Iowa and his life is never the same. An AOS-centric retelling of Gary Mitchell's story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Love Has Wings

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the TOS episode "[Where No Man Has Gone Before](http://memory-alpha.org/wiki/Where_No_Man_Has_Gone_Before_%28episode%29)," a viewing of which will help to better understand the story. Also, my headcanon AOS Mitchell is Ian Somerhalder. Written under the heavy influence of Hurts' album _Happiness_ (audio sample of an oft-played song can be found [here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JRJ_7YvIHnM)). Thanks to screamlet for her support of the story and to rubynye, who hosted a comment fic fest where the story originated.

1

He gets tired of waiting for Jim.

The bed is inviting, soft and unyielding, and it mostly smells of Jim: his cheap shampoo and the remnants of his world, the one he insists on visiting every night, as if he wants danger to find him. Gary presses his cheek to the pillow and thinks of Jim as he left him earlier that night, wrapped up in his beer and the pretty cadets swarming all around—as if any of them would talk to him, to them. He wonders if Jim is still at the bar, trying to get someone to pay him attention, or if he's out wandering through the fields, his bike slumped over in the long grass as he gazes up at the night sky, counting constellations.

Gary is usually the one to call Jim home, back from his fantasies—leaning out the side window of the dilapidated house, the brisk night wind cold on his cheek as he shouts Jim's name to a seemingly empty world. Tonight, he simply gathers Jim's pillow close and shuts his eyes.

He stirs after what feels like two minutes of sleep, when the front door slams closed and heavy footfalls echo through the house. Jim enters the bedroom and Gary looks up at him through bleary, slitted eyes, watching as he tosses his jacket on the chair, his boyish face mottled with bloody streaks and bruises.

"You look like shit," Gary mumbles in observation. Jim laughs dryly, climbs into bed with his clothes on.

"What can I say?" he asks, as he cups Gary's jaw in his palm and kisses him. "I'm a troubled young man."

Gary kicks the covers off his legs and fists his hand clumsily in Jim's dirty T-shirt to pull him closer. Their hips slot together and he gasps, thinks, _We both are_.

In the morning, Jim's not there. Gary tries to shake off the muzziness of sleep as he finds his boxers and pulls them on. His head snaps up when he hears the engine of a motorcycle roaring to life outside, his legs swinging over the edge of the bed before he even registers that he's moving.

"Hey!" He crashes through the front door, throwing it open. It's early and it's too cold to be standing outside naked, a sorry afterthought now. " _Hey!_ " he shouts again, when he sees Jim starting to pull away. Jim looks back with a sad but determined expression. Gary feels the prickle of tears; he doesn't want to see that look on Jim's face. Distance or sorrow, even crushing regret, he can handle. But not this.

"I gotta go," Jim calls to him. He speeds up and shakes his head when Gary steps forward, gestures of _I'm not taking you with me_. "I'm sorry, Gar."

Gary's hands ball into useless fists at his sides. "That wasn't a goodbye," he yells back. He knows full well now that it was: Jim's hands tender as they slid along his body, even as his hips pumped ferociously and his lashes flickered crazily over his electric eyes. Gary was too tired, too blindsided by Jim to see it for what it truly was. He's always hated being wrong. "That _wasn't_ goodbye!"

Soon, he's only screaming at a cloud of dust. It's all that Jim has left him.

*

Weeks later, he's not sure what he sees in the eyes of the young man looking up at him from the Starfleet ID badge. Resignation, maybe. Anger, sure. But Gary thinks he can also see some of that determination he remembers from his last glimpse of Jim. The only difference is, he's not here for the stars. To hell with the stars.

His red uniform chafes as he walks through the mess hall for the first time, carrying an unwieldy plastic tray of replicated slop. He catches interested looks out of the corner of his eye as he passes table after table, searching for a familiar head of tousled, wheat-colored hair. His breath catches when he spots it, along with blue eyes that bid him an all-too-easy farewell, thick eyebrows that Gary's own thumbs traced over as Jim slept, night after night. His fingers flex against the striated plastic tray in memory.

"Hi," he says, announcing himself, standing there. The conversation between Jim and the dark-haired man across the table skids to an abrupt halt, and Jim's mouth falls open in undisguised shock. Gary squares his shoulders and tries not to gaze at that mouth too long, as if he's missed it. "I'm Gary. Mind if I join you?"

Jim looks up at him blankly, as though hypnotized. "Sure," he says, with a jolt, and Gary thinks the other man might have kicked him. "Yeah. I'm, um. I'm Jim. This is Bones."

"Leonard McCoy," the man says, correcting him. "McCoy will do." He shifts to make room on the bench and Gary takes the offered seat, puts down his tray.

"Thanks, guys."

He lifts a forkful of meat to his mouth and half-listens to McCoy talk beside him, his eyes trained on Jim's across the table. Gary's mouth curls as he chews, his head fuzzy with feverish delight. This time, he thinks, Jim can't leave him behind. Whatever danger Jim wants to throw himself into, come hell or high water, Gary is going along for the ride.

 

2

He first met Jim about eight months earlier, his wreck of a hovercar running out of steam somewhere halfway between the Northeast and Los Angeles. Jim approached Gary on the side of the road, nothing but mischief and clear sky reflected in his eyes, and offered him a lift on his antique motorcycle, back to his place. "Near a garage," he explained.

They were about five seconds through the front door before Gary found himself thrust back against it, Jim's thigh wedged firmly between his. He laughed, breathless, and tugged Jim down by his hair for a bruising kiss, made himself at home.

Even now, Gary thinks he could have stayed in Riverside forever.

"Oi, Mitchell," he hears. "You coming to the party tonight? New cadets. Total smorgasbord, mate."

Gary looks away from the confusing template of his class schedule and up at the looming figure of Marcus Olson, his roommate. He's a boor at best, standing there and chewing on gum as loudly as he can, grinning at Gary like he's hiding some kind of secret. Gary is stuck with him, at least for the first year; he was one of the last cadets to enroll and this dorm was the only one left. Gary squints as he takes in Olson's stance, the way he fidgets from nervous excitement, and wonders, just for a moment, what the hell he's doing here.

"I was thinking of checking out the city," he says, feigning a smile. "Frat parties aren't really my thing."

Olson snorts and dismisses him, waving a hand as he walks to the door. "Suit yourself. Just bear in mind that there might be a lady in here when you get back. Maybe two or three. In which case, fuck off."

Gary salutes the door as it closes behind Olson, then brandishes his middle finger. He laughs to himself as he looks back at his PADD.

"Seriously, Jim, what the fuck," he mutters, amused. Then he looks out the window, up at the burgeoning stars in the sky, and the amusement rapidly melts away, his mouth curving down, down.

He doesn't get the fascination. He supposes he'll have to try.

*

The San Francisco nightlife is a major consolation prize. Gary throws himself into it at full speed. If he can't have Jim—Jim, who still pretends he doesn't know him, thinks he's alone as he constructs a new world for himself—he'll have everyone else who will have him. Beautiful boys and girls with makeup smeared across their lips and eyelids, who pull Gary close and breathe into his skin, as if he can absorb all of their secrets. His limbs buzz with their arousal, their implicit trust.

He's not surprised when he starts to spot Jim in the clubs, usually with that hapless bastard Leonard McCoy trailing close behind him. Gary knows Jim well enough to know that he must be getting restless at the academy already.

He dances as hard as he can, head thrown back and hands high in the air. He dances in ways that he knows Jim will notice. He falls onto the bar when he's done and presses cold beer bottles to his throat, remembering the cool press of Jim's lips against the very same stretch of skin.

One night, his hands are busy with a deck of cards when he hears his name.

"Gary, right?" the voice says. It's McCoy. He's nursing what looks to be scotch. "You must be bored if you're sitting around here, playing Solitaire."

Gary smiles vaguely, takes a sip of his neon green cocktail. He nudges his bottom lip against the condensation on the glass. McCoy's eyes follow his mouth without fail. For a fleeting moment, Gary wonders what McCoy is like when Jim fucks him. It passes.

"You like magic, Leonard?" he asks. Gary starts to shuffle his deck, speaks before he can answer. "Think of a card."

McCoy looks skeptical. "Okay, sure." Then Gary rifles through the deck and holds up the king of hearts for him to see. McCoy blinks in surprise. "How'd you know that?"

"I told you: magic." He clasps the card between two hands, makes it disappear. McCoy makes a disbelieving noise that Gary can hear over the loud thump of the music. "What'd you do with it?" he asks, just as Jim steps up behind him, a hand on his shoulder, as if he's arrived to take McCoy away from all this. Gary looks between them and smirks.

"It's in Jim's pants. You'll have to go spelunking."

The look that flashes in Jim's eyes is nothing short of dangerous. It reminds Gary of long, drunken nights in Iowa; the slippery necks of beer bottles clutched in shaking hands and the smack of a cool breeze against clammy skin as he gets pushed to his knees in the dirt; the same breeze whispering in through an open window as a strong arm holds him to the sweat-soaked sheets.

"Come on, Bones," is all Jim says now as he steers his friend away.

Gary watches their retreating backs and blinks, remembering dust in his eyes.

 

3

Jim finds him in the middle of the night. Gary opens his eyes to a familiar face, stubbled and cast in shadow, eyes bright as ever, even in the darkness of his dorm room. Jim's body is familiar, too, long and lithe as it stretches along the length of Gary's regulation twin-sized bed.

"What took you so long?" Gary murmurs. Jim's mouth twitches in a smile, but only briefly. A bit of movement on the bed reminds Gary of the fact that he's only wearing his boxer briefs. There's no part of his body that Jim hasn't seen, but he starts to turn away, exhaling when Jim reaches down and holds him still. "Just like old times," he says.

Jim gives him a critical look. "Why did you follow me here?" he asks.

"Christ." Gary rolls his eyes, wants to simultaneously laugh and cry because it's been _months_ and Jim is only asking this now? As if he doesn't know the answer already? He's still half-asleep so he rubs at his eyes and turns his face away, not wanting Jim to see him. For once. "Be quieter, okay? Olson's dumb ass is asleep for once, don't wanna wake him."

Jim spares a glance for the bunk across the room, where Olson sleeps, rumpled in his bed sheets, wearing a Starfleet athletic T-shirt and a pair of tighty-whiteys. "I didn't know Olson was your roommate," he says, a hint of pity in his voice.

"Yeah, he sure is. Hell of a guy. One of the many things I love about being in Starfleet fucking Academy."

"For god's sake, Gar, that's why I'm _asking_ you: Why are you here?"

Gary laughs softly and closes his eyes. It all comes rushing back to him, why he loved Jim. His rough edges, yes, but also his boyish insistence on having all the answers, knowing the ins and outs of everything, at any cost. It's probably why Jim is first in their class. He'll be a fantastic captain one day. He's a shit boyfriend, but he could lead anyone anywhere—to a bed, to the stars, to certain death. Anywhere.

A couple of minutes go by and Gary doesn't say a word. There's no movement and Gary thinks maybe Jim has already crept away, so carefully that he didn't notice it. But then he feels warm lips on his jaw, working their way up to his ear. When he reaches up and opens his hand, Jim's bicep fills it, the way it always did.

"What about McCoy?" he whispers.

Jim shuts him up with a firm kiss. "Don't," is all he says on the subject.

So Gary doesn't.

*

The first time is explained away with a blunt message to Gary's comm: _I made a mistake. I was feeling homesick. Sorry._ He has all of two days to feel miserable about it before Jim is back in his bed, apparently suffering from another bout of homesickness.

The funny thing is, Riverside was never really Gary's home. It was an unexpected pit stop, sort of like where he is right now. A random place that ended up being somewhere special. Knowing that Jim equates him with home, even if it's a flimsy excuse for his raging libido or a lapse into vulnerability, fills Gary with a sickening pleasure that sings through his veins, right down to his toes.

He never tells Jim to leave, never. Gary relishes every graze of their bodies, their quiet huffs and stilted grunts as they do their best not to wake the lumbering beast in the opposite bunk. He clutches Jim's firm shoulders and then tries to remember their shape as he sleepwalks his way through the next few days of classes, when Jim goes back to McCoy. He keeps hold of whatever he can until he wakes to find Jim in his bed again.

He's slumped over his desk one day, one hand buried in his hair as the other scribbles numbers with a stylus, going through grunt work he couldn't care less about.

"So, I guess you're fucking that Kirk bloke, huh?" Olson says, somewhere behind him. Gary drops his stylus and laughs out of nerves, but he doesn't dare to turn around.

"Where the hell did you hear that?"

Olson snickers. "Oh, I'd say...Tuesday night, 'round four or so?"

Gary shuts his eyes, his face getting hot. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"Bit of a smart arse, isn't he?" Olson says, as if Gary didn't utter a word. "Surprised he'd be interested in a bore like you. I reckoned he was with that cranky doctor, anyway."

"They're roommates." Gary licks his lips, tries to quell the feeling of panic that he can't quite explain. Olson's a lot of things—most of them stupid—but he's not one to spread rumors. And Gary doesn't care what he thinks. It's more of a loss of privacy, knowing that someone else is onto them. It makes it real, and reality could mean losing Jim again. "I used to know him. Before the academy. It's just a...a nostalgia thing. You know?"

"Yeah, whatever," Olson says, already losing interest. "You ever need me to fuck off, let me know."

Gary nods and mentally counts the days. "Thanks. I think tonight might be good."

A few hours later, a sudden warmth along his side tells him he was right. Gary automatically wraps his arm around the solid body beside him, noses along the memorized slope of Jim's shoulder.

"Olson knows," he whispers into the fuzzed cotton there. "He heard us." Jim stiffens in his arms.

"Will he tell anyone?"

"No." Gary opens one eye to confirm that Olson's bed is empty, as promised. "He's an oaf but he's not a gossip." He peers up at Jim, into those damning sky-blue eyes. "Your secret's safe, believe me."

"It's our secret," Jim says. There's a terrible sensitivity in his voice that makes Gary want to cry. He hasn't cried since Jim left him in Iowa, though, and he's not about to start. He presses his face to Jim's throat and sighs.

He asks, "Why?" and Jim scratches down his back, just hard enough to leave marks.

"Because I need it to be and you want it to be."

Gary can't argue with that, so he doesn't try. With Olson gone, they take the opportunity to be a little louder, rougher. Jim fucks him until his asshole is red-rimmed and sore, and even then Gary begs for more, until Jim rubs his back and tells him it's been enough, more than enough already.

Something like that doesn't seem possible to Gary. It never has and he suspects it never will.

 

4

Jim grows tired of Gary after a while, which doesn't surprise him. It happened once before, after all. His visits to Gary's bedroom decline in frequency, and then it gets to the point where Gary only sees him roaming around campus or in bars, usually with McCoy, though sometimes with others.

He hears through the grapevine that Jim's fucking the Orion girl, Gaila, which also makes sense. Iowa was bland and flat and full of people who looked just like Jim, which is half the reason he left. The other half, Gary doesn't care to think about.

He tries going to clubs again but ends up bored with it all, throwing himself into his studies instead. He's a good student—not as good as Jim, but no one in this place is, not even the little Russian Einstein—and while he couldn't care less about going into space, he thinks he could get a research position at the academy. Jim was the one in love with the stars, not Gary. There's no point in following him now, not when Gary's forgotten the shape of Jim's shoulders, the scratchy fuzz of his eyebrows under his thumbs.

The one time Gary decides to take a night off and go to a party, he stumbles into a very drunk Leonard McCoy—or rather, it's McCoy that stumbles, right into Gary, nearly dropping the glass in his hand.

"Mitchell," McCoy slurs, his breath hot against Gary's ear. "Don't see you 'round much anymore."

Gary glances around. Jim is nowhere in sight. "You rarely ever did."

"If you're lookin' for Jimmy, he's not here. But I am." McCoy leans into him, his drink tipping dangerously to one side, dangling from his lax fingertips. He looks lascivious and hungry, but moreover, lonely. "You got any magic tricks up your sleeve for me?"

Gary smirks and turns toward the booze-soaked scent of McCoy's breath. "Just one."

In the darkness of a stranger's dorm room closet, Gary licks into McCoy's mouth with urgency, chasing after any taste, any remnant of Jim. McCoy gets his hand into Gary's trousers, mumbling something about "goddamned pretty blue eyes" and Gary makes a noise of sympathy, of deep understanding. From what Jim once told him, McCoy doesn't have any desire to go into space, either. But he will. Gary bucks and gasps against McCoy's slick skin; he knows with every fiber of his being that no matter how much Jim tries to push them away, they'll both go after him, anywhere.

"Tell me how you did that trick," McCoy mumbles into his neck when they're done. "That magic trick, in the bar."

Gary smiles despite his damp pants and general feeling of dread. "No magic," he admits. "I just know how to read people. Sixth sense, you know?"

"Bullshit," McCoy says, chuckling as he hacks up a watery cough. "Bull fucking shit."

McCoy won't tell Jim what happened, Gary knows. Not if he doesn't want to risk losing Jim. Still, Gary sleeps uneasily for a week, half-afraid and half-exhilarated for the possibility of Jim coming back and finding him in the middle of the night, holding him down in a fit of anger or passion or both. In a world where everyone is almost too easy to read, Jim has always been thrillingly unpredictable.

*

Olson wakes him for the hearing.

"It's your old pal, Kirk," he says, smirking. "Fucked up something royal, I hear."

It's his day off from classes, but Gary dresses in his reds all the same and makes the long march down to the main auditorium. He watches with interest as Jim gets his ass handed to him by a bunch of stern-faced blowhards, including a statuesque, monotone Vulcan.

The Orion girl sits a few seats away from Gary. He catches sight of the streak of a blush across her grass-green cheeks, her angry pout, and taps his fingertips against his mouth as he wonders.

He's so preoccupied that he barely hears the exchange about the distress call from Vulcan. He stands up when the other cadets do, jostled around as he walks with them, out of the auditorium. It's like a firm slap when he looks up, sees the silvery shuttles surrounding them all, and realizes he's going into space. Going into battle.

But no one has said it's a battle. Not yet. Somehow, he knows.

Gary thinks he sees Jim at one point, arguing with someone, but he loses track of him quickly, ushered to the shuttle. The Orion takes the seat next to him and Gary sits up automatically. Her smile is blinding; it's like she's completely forgotten the hearing.

"This is exciting," she says. "Isn't it? I'm—"

"Gaila, I know." Gary nods and smiles thinly. "Gary Mitchell."

"I've seen you. Where do you come from? In America, I mean?"

Gary glances out the window and hesitates. "Connecticut," he says, and then, "by way of Iowa."

"Iowa, huh?" Gaila clucks her tongue and frowns, looking at the seat in front of her. "There seem to be a lot of you from there."

The ship itself, the Farragut, is a gorgeous sight, which they both admire from their small, foggy shuttle window. It takes mere minutes after Gary steps on board before he realizes something is wrong. He gets that familiar feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach— _Sixth sense, you know?_ —and when he hears the ship-wide debriefing about the lightning storm, it clicks.

"Lightning storm," he whispers to Gaila as they walk down the corridor together. "That's happened before. To the Kelvin. They reported a lightning storm before the ship was destroyed by an unknown enemy vessel."

"How do you know that?" Gaila asks, disbelievingly. Gary licks his lips and wonders how the truthful answer of _I know everything about Jim Kirk_ would sound. Instead, he reaches for Gaila's wrist.

"Doesn't matter," he says. "Do you trust me?"

"I have no reason to," Gaila says. But then she looks into his eyes, and whatever she sees there results in a firm nod.

They make it to the emergency shuttle pods, thanks to Gaila's fancy engineering override codes. At the last minute, a young man rushes after them, trying to stop them from boarding a pod. Gary sucker punches the kid, just hard enough to daze him, and then hoists him over his shoulder, stuffing him into the pod. If he's smart enough to figure out Gaila's security breach, then he's probably worth saving.

"My roommate's still on board," Gaila says, as Gary puts his emergency pilot training to use. "Can't we—"

"There's no time," he says. And then, as if on cue, someone—something—starts firing at the ship. Gary puts all his focus on getting them as far away as he can, as quickly as possible, teeth clenched and heart racing. For the first time in ages, he wants to fight. He wants to live.

Oddly, the Farragut is even more beautiful as it shatters into fiery rubble, like a star exploding abruptly in the night sky, along with all of the other ships in the fleet. The three of them look on through the view screen and watch as the massive enemy ship completely obliterates everything, the last few years of their lives dissipating to space dust. Gary takes a shaky breath as he tries to quell the tide of his emotion—the bizarre and overwhelming feeling rippling through his body that somehow sings of _relief_. The kid—Aron is his name, Gary's learned, Aron Gupta—touches his shoulder.

"You saved our lives," he whispers. "How did you know?"

Gary exchanges a glance with Gaila, who looks at him with guilty, vulnerable eyes. _Goddamned pretty blue eyes_ , he hears McCoy saying in his head. He swallows hard and looks on as all the lights go out in the black.

"It was just...you know, a feeling."

They put out a distress call, just in case anyone is still alive to receive it.

 

5

Gary wakes to bright lights and blue eyes. For a moment, he's sure he's dead, or at least dreaming.

"I thought you were gone," Jim whispers. "I just assumed..."

"I thought you—" Gary pauses to cough, and then it all comes back to him: the long wait for a rescue, the dwindling oxygen supply, Gaila's hand wilting in the palm of his own. The stories they traded before it became too risky to talk. "Gaila and Gupta?"

Jim cocks his head. "Both alive. Turns out you're a hero. How did you know?"

Gary shuts his eyes, his eyelashes prickly against his cheeks. He's sure Jim already knows the answer to that question. And it's not fair, when Gary has so many questions of his own. He thinks about feigning sleep but gives up the ghost when Jim reaches out and touches him, right over his heart.

"Just tell me the story already," he mutters. Jim's answering laughter is sweet.

And Gary has to admit, it's quite a story. Jim tells him everything, from his unlikely partnership with the Vulcan to his time spent marooned on Delta Vega, battling ice beasts; Olson's daredevil plunge that killed him and nearly Jim too—Olson dead and gone, Gary almost can't believe it; hideous Nero and his cronies, who killed so many of their friends; the grievous loss of Vulcan. Plus, countless tales of a sassy Scotsman, the Russian Einstein, and Gaila's roommate, Nyota, still alive thanks to a last-minute switch. And McCoy, of course, loyal as ever, always by Jim's side.

Jim finally runs out of steam after what seems like hours of storytelling and Gary realizes how engrossed he's been the entire time. He gives Jim a wan smile.

"And you think _I'm_ the hero? Not much of a match for Captain James T. Kirk, saving his entire ship, not to mention the world."

"Well, with a little help from my friends."

"Don't be so modest." Gary looks at Jim, who's still bright-eyed and wild with energy, despite the bruises and rings of exhaustion under his eyes. He sees the same young man who wandered through the grass night after night, looking up at the stars; who chased after them when they disappeared with the sunrise, leaving everything else behind. Leaving Gary behind. He skims his knuckles over Jim's knee and knows right there and then that however fast he runs after Jim, he'll never catch him. "You got what you wanted. I knew you would."

Jim licks his lips and hesitates. Then, to Gary's surprise, he scoops up his hand and holds it in a tight grip.

"The _Enterprise_ is going to be mine," he says. "I want you there with me, Gar."

"No, you..." Gary bites back a bitter laugh and shakes his head. "You don't need me, Jim. You never did."

"Gary." The bright eyes go dull, then disappear as Jim bows his golden head. Gary flexes his fingers around Jim's and then lets go, running his fingers through that bristly, thick hair, reveling in the sense memory of it. Jim's voice hitches as he attempts to go on. "I thought you were...that I'd never..."

"Hey, hey...Jim. _Jim_."

And it's probably not allowed, but Jim ends up curled against Gary's side in his sickbay bed, his face pressed to the curve of Gary's neck as he sleeps, likely for the first time in days. Gary strokes his hair gently and dozes on and off, opening his eyes just as McCoy walks over, PADD in hand, and takes in the scene before him. Their eyes meet and Gary's initial sense of anxiety is quickly soothed over by the sad understanding that passes between them.

"He was tired," Gary says.

"Don't I know it." McCoy takes down the readings from Gary's monitor, then nods quickly. "Guess I'll be seeing you around."

Gary presses his cheek to Jim's crown and doesn't reply until McCoy is out of earshot.

"Yeah. Guess so."

*

The dream wakes him again. Gary shudders with the violent pleasure of his power—a miraculous, unbelievable strength rippling through his muscles, infusing his body down to his very bones. His mind races with the unending possibilities, guided by a force that feels better than anything he's ever experienced, even light years beyond love. He looks out at a strange world through alien, silver eyes that shimmer with bloodlust, until all he can see is Jim, Jim, Jim—dropping to his knees, choking on his own breath, frail and defeated as he falls indelicately into a freshly dug grave. Dirt and blood on Gary's hands, he looks up and takes in the awesome sight of the universe bending to his will...

His loud gasp doesn't wake the others. Jim and McCoy stay tangled up in each other, even as Gary extracts himself from the sheets. He takes a moment to look at them, how perfectly they fit, then throws on a T-shirt and shorts and makes his way to the observation deck. Since Gary's been on the _Enterprise_ , he's grown fond of stargazing. Jim, for all the time he once spent contemplating the sky, rarely has the time now that he's in charge of a starship and her entire crew. Gary likes to think that he's taken up where Jim left off.

After a while, Jim appears by the doorway. "Keeping an eye on the stars?" he asks. Gary looks back at him and smirks.

"Someone has to."

They sit in silence for a while, watching all those specks of light whiz by. Gary wonders exactly how he got to this point—if his life was ever completely in his hands after running across the burning star that is Jim Kirk.

"So, you gonna tell me what's up?" Jim finally says, interrupting his thoughts. Gary swallows and nods.

"Nothing, just...I had the dream again. Never gets any less terrifying."

"Gar." Jim drops his head back against his seat and looks over at him. "What do I always tell you? Nothing like that is ever gonna happen. It's just a dream. It _couldn't_ happen. I wouldn't let it."

"This is space; anything could happen."

"You sound like Bones," Jim says, chuckling. The comparison stings, and Jim winces at the sour look on Gary's face. "Sorry, I meant... I was just saying."

"Yeah," Gary murmurs, though what he really wants to say is, _I can't do this anymore_ and _Let's stop fooling ourselves_ or, better yet, _I don't belong here_. He stands from his chair abruptly and pulls off his T-shirt, then moves in front of Jim, blocking his view of the stars. He gazes down at him with a silent question. Jim tilts his chin up, his pretty blue eyes still sparkling, even in Gary's shadow.

"You can't ask me to choose," he says.

Gary exhales as best as he can, his throat tight. "I never ask. You always do it on your own."

He leaves the deck before Jim can answer and flees to his quarters, adjacent to the captain and CMO's. Once there, he sits down and files for reassignment, asking Starfleet Command to send him back to Earth. The message, as per protocol, is copied to Jim.

As far as Gary is concerned, this time it is goodbye.

The next day's shift is tense at best. Jim barely speaks to Gary, and when he does, his words are terse, underscored with hurt. Gary supposes that Jim doesn't know how it feels to be rejected or disappointed. But it's not as though he'll be alone. Whether that's a comfort or another blow, Gary doesn't quite know.

Then, it all happens at once.

He's in the rec room when he hears it: _Red alert. Emergency stations_. As Gary walks among other crew members to the bridge, a strange feeling of déjà vu comes over him, a wave of dread. He thinks of the Battle of Vulcan and his reoccurring dream. He envisions the Farragut breaking apart like glass, Jim tumbling dead into an unmarked grave. His head swims with trepidation but also that familiar sense of relief that confuses and calms him, all at once.

When he gets to the bridge, he sees what they're dealing with before he hears it—the galactic barrier in their sights, and an unknown field that looms across the view screen, stirring up memories of lightning streaking across the Iowa sky. Some kind of gorgeous silver lining that calls to him, beckons him home. Gary moves toward it, transfixed, the Vulcan's words fading into the background as he breaks away from his station and moves toward the screen.

"Mitchell," Jim says warningly. Then, with a hint of panic, "Gary, stay where you are!"

Jim is the one used to walking away, leaving Gary behind. But this time, Gary thinks, it's different. This time, it's about him. He keeps his eyes on that narrowing silver glow and takes his first defiant steps in a new direction, away from this expired path and forward, into all that gleaming, beautiful light.


End file.
